The Broken.

People with broken hearts break things. They break of gin..or anything of everything that breaks into fragments.

I guess Im different.

I dont break things.

I break myself.

I run as fast as I can until the muscles in my legs tangle up and force me to stop. But I wont. Ill keep running.

I turn the music up so high my eardrums will go crazy like wildfire rushing through my body until it impairs my brain. It is then I can no longer think. I can no longer worry.

I write..pour out every pint of my blood into pen and paper. I will break every joint, every phalanges, and every vein that my hand used to hold hearts and trust.

I cry til my eyeballs drown from the tears. And I will let my soul drown no matter the wreckage.

I drink…letting the alcohol infiltrate my body even if it leaves my liver gasping. And I smoke til my lungs scream for fresh air.

Then when my system can no longer take it, I will leave the memory of those who screwed me over down in the toilet or in surgery or wherever hell I end up in.

And still will I have the audacity to screw up even more.

Call it reckless but to me it is living and learning.



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